


walking the long road

by Marnie



Category: Rick and Morty, Undertale (Video Game)
Genre: Flavor Text Narrator Chara (Undertale), Gen, Implied/Referenced Suicide, Morty Centric, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Post-Undertale Soulless Pacifist Route, Sharing a Body, Spoilers - Undertale Pacifist Route, Vignette
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-04
Updated: 2018-11-04
Packaged: 2019-08-16 20:29:07
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,391
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16502183
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Marnie/pseuds/Marnie
Summary: "Morty realizes that he doesn’t really like the life he’s been living. He realizes that he’s young, but he’s seen things that he probably shouldn’t have, heard things that he could have lived without hearing, and felt emotions that most healthy kids are unfamiliar with. And he realizes that, while he loves his family, and his situation will never compare, he understands what pushed Chara to that mountain."*(Or: Morty falls into a mountain. He comes back with an entire people behind him, and a tag along in his soul.)





	walking the long road

**Author's Note:**

> hello! please note that if you're coming to this fic as a fan of one but not the other, you will probably be confused. knowledge of canon for both series is important in understanding the events detailed within. i also wouldn't want to spoil the stories of either for anybody interested in getting into them!
> 
> nintey percent of this was written and edited on my phone in between classes, so if there are any mistakes left behind, please let me know. i hope you enjoy this!

It’s dark.

A few feet in front of him, a small figure releases hitching, uneven breaths. The little figure clenches its fists, lets out a sobbing laugh, and breathes in.

Then they turn around.

“Howdy!” Says a familiar voice. It’s missing a few layers of something. The distorted audio of a fuzzy VHS, or maybe the otherworldly soullessness of its original incarnation.

“Chara, are you there? It’s me, your best friend.”

 _You can’t win this You can’t win this You can’t win this You can’t win this_ is filtering into his mind, filling his shared mindspace with anxiety and dread and a strange feeling that he’d almost call love, if not for the violent sense of rejection that comes along with it.

And then there’s a flash of white light and the figure feels like it’s ten feet tall and looming, but there’s something familiar about this—something familiar about these robes and this face and this voice—the phone call in the elevator, the fight with first Toriel and then Asgore, and then it makes sense. It makes sense who this was all along, why he was being followed, why it was apparently too painful for any of the monsters to call him what he really was or even ask for his name.

“Asriel Dreemurr.”

Morty feels desperation rise in his chest as flames come hurtling towards him, with more purpose and direction than Asgore or Toriel ever had, and suddenly this is much worse than whatever it was that Flowey had turned himself into. Because this had been the goal, hadn’t it? A return to the soul that he’d lost years ago, years before Morty or Mom or Dad or even Rick was ever born. This is an ancient conviction and an ancient hurt rising in his chest and towering before him.

He blinks and it’s like a burst of color is assaulting him, exploding behind his eyelids when he blinks and glinting around Asriel’s broad shoulders as the monster sways towards him.

The fight almost takes him out a few times, but then that presence that lives at the back of his head—Chara?—knits him back together, forcible and desperate, a job so patchwork that Morty thinks of covering cracked windows with bandaids. 

And a part of him suspects he’d keep trying even if there wasn’t something keeping him here, if he didn’t feel the pulse of so many life forces beating through him like one collective heartbeat. He saves his friends. He saves Asriel, hanging on by a thread in the face of a burst of plasma that Rick would swear is impossible for humanoids to create. 

He SAVEs the world.

* * *

 

“Ha… ha…. I don’t want to let go.” Asriel admits, laughing wetly into Morty’s stomach. He’s a small little thing, diminutive in his striped shirt and pyjama pants, and when Morty squeezes the kid tighter, he feels some of the downy fur beneath his clothes give as easy as anything. He won’t last long.

It’s hard to imagine that the boy is anything more than a child, because his voice is tinny and thick with tears, and his snout only just reaches the lower half of Morty’s sternum—and he’s not that tall himself.

“You don’t have to.” Morty says. The words come clear and sure, and Morty gets the feeling that they always will, with Chara taking residence in his heart like they have.

  
The agitated and jumbled state of his mind has set a frog in his throat that turns over with every noise he makes. Odd little whimpers keep rising in his throat, and he wonders how much of that is his own or Chara’s, which one of them is tired and weepy and relieved that all of this seems to be over.

The barrier is destroyed.

* * *

 

A radiant white light overtakes his vision, and Morty remembers that he came close to killing them all. 

This new reality they crashed in was almost scarily similar to the one they’d left, but there were some differences that Morty found himself catching every now and then. The amount of freckles dotting Summer’s shoulders. The shade of Mom’s hair, a little yellower than he remembers. Some parts of history taught in class—small things, like who said what quote and who went where at what time. He wonders if the history books ever talked about monsters, and he’d just missed them because he was too busy being pulled into inter-galactic crime.

Mount Ebott had been a surprise. It overlooks their town, now, from a few miles away. Rick was keen on avoiding it out of sheer disinterest. Morty begged and whined and cajoled, but Rick didn’t see the value of taking a day trip to a new mountain range when they could leave the planet for larger, more impressive mountain ranges any time they wanted.

So he’d given Morty a ray gun and said, “Have—eeuuuUUGGH—some fun, I guess,” and shooed him away. He’d been intent on some new invention. Rick is like that. He’ll have bursts of hyperactivity and then withdraw into his den, tinkering and grumbling and cursing away. And for once, instead of insisting that he be able to help, Morty took the gun and left on foot, promising his parents he’d be back by sundown.

That first run, Flowey’s swift betrayal had seen him shooting whatever attacked him first, even when it made Toriel sad. And later, he’d killed her, too, watched her laugh and kneel and scatter into dust, and from then on he’d killed everything that pulled him into a fight. Monsters have an odd way of going about things, and they are so delicate, for all their abilities. The youngest child could pull your soul out of your chest without a second thought, and hit you with bullets made manifest from their wildest imagination. But that was easy to stop—a swat with some pan he had found, when the ray gun eventually lost power, or a frantic punch made stronger by gloves left on the ground, and their souls would shatter and they’d be dust. At some point, he stopped waiting for them to hit first, and then he’d gone back for the ones he missed, strangely and obsessively worried that they’d hunt him down.

By the end of it all he’d been covered in the dust, tired, and frantic, and all it had taken was a little voice begging for him not to step into that throne room, to start over, and not in the way he did when an overly enthusiastic monster broke his soul into so many little pieces and he’d go back to the last place that made his chest fill with strong emotion. No, he’d started over from the very beginning, when he’d fallen from a height that should have killed him.

He did a better job that time.

* * *

 

Several things happen after the barrier is broken:

First, Morty visits everyone. After what happened with Asriel, it’s like everyone in the Underground knows his name, and they mostly greet him with warm affection. Mothers squeeze his cheeks and marvel at his soft human flesh, and children ask why he wasn’t wearing a striped shirt. He refuses gifts and answers nervous questions about the surface, and laughingly recounts his favorite memories from his journey. Mettaton kisses his cheek. Temmie squeals and nuzzles him until a strong allergic reaction has her pimpling and sneezing. Grillby actually speaks. The royal guard dogs hug him, even the amalgamate with what seems like an endless amount of eyes. This particular encounter leaves him covered in goo and smiling like a fool.

Second, Chara tells him that, yes, they’re with him, and have been there since that first fall, fearful and disoriented as if after a long sleep. They tell him about their life on the surface. They tell him about their life with the Dreemurrs. They tell him about the flowers.

 _They’re buttercups_ , Chara says. _They taste awful._

And finally, Morty realizes that he doesn’t really like the life he’s been living. He realizes that he’s young, but he’s seen things that he probably shouldn’t have, heard things that he could have lived without hearing, and felt emotions that most healthy kids are unfamiliar with. And he realizes that, while he loves his family, and his situation will never compare, he understands what pushed Chara to that mountain.

* * *

 

(“Um… What _is_ your name?” Asriel asks, wincing almost as soon as the question is voiced.

“It’s okay. My name’s Morty.”

“That’s a nice name.” Asriel says, smiling.

It’s not the first time he’s heard that, or something like it, but it lacks the hint of mocking he’s familiar with.

“I think your name is nicer.”

There’s sadness in the smile Asriel gives him, then, and no small amount of acceptance.

“It was.”

And Morty says, “They _are_ here, by the way. They were always here.”

When Asriel gives the body a hug, it’s Chara who moves to wrap the arms around him. Morty leaves with a little yellow blossom tucked behind his ear.)

* * *

 

“I want to stay with you,” Morty says, surprising himself with just how much he means it. “But I don’t think I can.”

Toriel fails at hiding what must be deep disappointment, but she masks it quickly enough with a smile.

Morty realizes, suddenly, that he doesn’t think anyone has ever actually wanted him around in any particular way that was stronger than his role. To Rick, he was a faithful sidekick. To Mom and Dad, he was the son that needed constant supervision. To Summer, he’s the kid brother who is the only one that can possibly sympathize with an underwhelming life. To his teachers and classmates, he’s the kid who was just slightly off enough to warrant bullying, undue kindness, or something in between, which usually culminated in being ignored outright.

And maybe Toriel is doing the same, wanting to keep him around to fill the gap left behind by so many dead children she failed to protect (especially the first one), but he doesn’t mind, because at least she feels deeply about it.

“Listen, my phone—my surface phone?—works up here. I can probably help you guys get settled. And you can have my number and call me anytime.”

Sans is watching him with those keen lighthouse eyes. He never thought he’d peg a skeleton as eagle eyed until that dinner, and he feels unsettled with that gaze resting on him again. But he’s kind enough, and he watched out. Morty has the feeling Rick would like him. He’s got that same listless air of nihilism lingering about him, powering him into action when necessary, but mostly convincing him it’s fine to watch the world implode. He’d certainly been content to sit by and let Morty kill his brother, and every other person he cared about, until the very last minute. Because of this, Morty does not trust him, but he knows that he is reliable in most other situations—similar enough to Rick that it makes his chest ache.

“Are you safe where you’re headed, kiddo?” He asks, with that deep voice of is. Where does it radiate from? His chest? Some kind of magic? His upside down monster soul?

“No,” Morty says, “but it’s not a long walk, so that evens it out a bit.”

He lets out a high, ugly laugh that doesn’t really feel right anymore.

Chara says, _We should stay with Toriel._

Morty thinks that he’d rather not see what she looks like as a pile of dust again.

* * *

 

When Morty knocks on the door, mom opens it.

She doesn’t even seem to notice the odd assemblage of creatures behind him. She kneels, her face crumples, and she pulls him into a hug that he returns mechanically.

“Where have you _been_?” She asks, thickly.

“Oh, you know, just. Underground.” And then he laughs, but it's more honest, feels less grating.

“Underground?” Mom says, shrill.

And it’s like she only just notices his companions. She takes it in stride, because that’s just how mom is, and he can see the gears turning in her head.

“I made some friends. They were kinda stuck under there? Sorry it took me so long, I was just trying to help them.”

“Why didn’t you call?”

“Funny thing about being underground? No signal.” He says, a weak attempt at a joke that falls so flat he wants to start this entire conversation over. He’s determined to make the next thing he says not so stupid.

(And just like that, there’s this strong swell of feeling in his chest, and Morty knows he can start over from here, later, if he needs to.)

“How long has it been?” He asks.

“It’s almost been a month, honey. God, you had us so scared. Dad wouldn’t let us call the police for help—honestly, when you didn’t come back, we thought you were out with dad, but then we saw him in the garage…” And mom is talking at a mile a minute, explaining their searches, Rick’s reluctance to accept that Morty was missing and not playing some petty trick, their trek up to Mount Ebott, how they hadn’t really found anything of note and just assumed he’d been lost.

“I was,” Morty cuts in, “I was just, like, under the mountain. But it’s okay!” He points at the motley crew of friends he’s assembled. There's Sans and Papyrus, goofy and skeletal. There's Toriel and Asgore, massive but kind-faced. There's Undyne and Alphys, clinging to each other. And, finally, the rest of a growing procession of monsters that had tentatively followed them.

“Oh, Morty.” Mom says, somehow blending fondness, exasperation, and a hint of pride into one sighing breath.

* * *

 

It’s not hard to get Rick to give him a knife.

Rick doesn’t question it, gives him some small thing with a holster he can put underneath his sleeves or pant legs.

Something about the personal nature of a knife has always scared Morty. With Rick, he’s gotten access to a dizzying array of weapons, but they are usually long-range, something that would let them fight while running away. The shenanigans they got into usually called for it. Morty had rarely been responsible for the end of someone’s life up close, and after the incident with the purge planet, had made a point to avoid it if he could.

Underground, towards the end of that first disastrous trek, Chara had been almost desperate for a knife. When he’d found one, towards the end of it all, he remembers hearing the words _It’s about time_ bounce around his head like an echo chamber. And he’d killed with that knife. He’d slashed Sans right across the chest and watched him bleed, had stopped and stared at that knife for hours, looking at the dust that stubbornly clung to his skin and the blood on his hands. And Chara, almost deflated, begged for a do-over, like all the defensive and malicious energy that drove them to violence had left them with one hit.

They started over, but Chara never stopped longing for that knife. In hindsight, it made sense. The desire to have one had never felt like it was _his_ , really. He hated that it took him so long to become aware of Chara’s presence, but in hindsight, it was obvious. Morty missed most things, but he will always be amazed at himself for missing the entire soul bound to his own.

 _Don’t worry about it,_ Chara says. _Thank you for the knife._

It’s as much of a crutch as an aged teddy bear is for some kids his age. Unnecessary, but comforting. Morty keeps it on his person and assumes it can only be helpful. 

* * *

 

Rick goes with him to collect Flowey. 

“You said he’s—he’s like, what, some little flower head asshole with a vendetta? Why do you want him back?” He asks, brow furrowed.

And Morty realizes he hadn’t told anyone the full story of what happened. It feels strangely personal, and halfway like it’s not his story to tell, like he stumbled into the role of someone who deserved it more than he did—the good parts, anyway, the friendship and the magic and saving the world even when no one knew he did it. Chara says, _That’s not true. I rather like you._

“He helped me out a lot.” Morty says. It’s not exactly a lie.

Morty takes Rick up the path he used to find the entrance, and Rick is strangely quiet as he takes in their surroundings—the vines, and the little copses of buttercup blossoms growing. He uses a hastily assembled gravitational device to see them safely down to the entrance of the Ruins, glancing around their surroundings with interest and distrust.

Morty moves forward, and sure enough, he sees him, in the same place where Asriel was tending to the flowers at Chara’s grave before the exodus. He’s settled in a little pool of dust, and Morty realizes with sudden sadness that whatever remained of Asriel must have shed and left nothing but the husk behind.

“Flowey?”

And Flowey says, low and tinny, “Go away, Morty.”

Rick says, quietly, “What the _fuck_.”

“No, I’m gonna get you out of here, okay? There’s no reason for you to be stuck here by yourself.” Morty argues, walking cautiously forward.

Flowey volleys a round of weak bullets at him, but his soul hasn’t been pulled from his chest, so he knows it’s a warning shot more than anything. They sting when they hit, but they don’t draw blood or zap any of his vitality.

“Don’t be like that.”

“I don’t know why you think you have any right to speak to me like that. Like we’re friends.”  Flowey hisses. He still hasn’t lifted his head up, but Morty can just imagine the grimace his face is pulled into, all teeth and narrowed eyes.

“I like to think we were friends, for a little bit there. You told me I had a nice name and everything.”

“ _He_ told you that. I didn’t tell you anything but the truth. And you have a stupid name.”

At this point, Rick snorts. “M-Morty, it doesn’t sound like this asshole is going anywhere with us, any—EuGGHHH—time soon.”

Flowey does lift his head then, and just like Morty thought, his face is affixed into one of his more hellish looks. Rick chuckles when he sees it, like he’s staring into the face of a scared and mostly harmless puppy. If only he knew.

“Who are you?” Flowey asks.

“He’s my grandpa. He’s pretty smart.” Morty says.

“Unlike _you,”_ Flowey says.

“Yeah, maybe,” Morty says, taking a seat in the bed of flowers below. From death, new life. “Let’s talk.”

So they talk. Rick watches with crossed arms as Morty talks about any mundane little thing—the little monster children who gathered outside his house to play, his classes which are still boring and confusingly inane, his adventures off planet. Rick shifts, every now and then, but for once he doesn’t interject. Morty recognizes his narrowed eyes as a look of fascination, and he sees it aimed at the door to the Ruins more than once. Morty wonders what would have happened if the both of them had ventured to the Underground in the first place.

At one point, Flowey tells him that not everybody is gone. It’s the first time he’s spoken up since Morty’s talk began, and Morty does an admirable job of hiding the hopeful shock that rolls through him.

“What do you mean? Do they need help getting out?” Morty asks.

“They can all leave whenever they feel like it. I’m just annoyed that they stick around. They’re… weird.”

Morty asks him to elaborate, but Flowey seems to have lost all desire to speak beyond saying, “Do what you want.”

They bring him back up in a little pot later. He flinched away from the setting sun and then, inexplicably, begins to cry, a steady stream of bitter tears. It’s Chara who presses a kiss onto his soft face, and it’s Chara who gives Rick a red-eyed glare when they realize the fuzzy feeling on the body’s head is because of Rick’s laser-like gaze. Rick reaches out and gives his shoulder a brief squeeze in a rare show of worry. Morty has been seeing more and more of these since he left the underground with no stutter and a longing for knives. Though it’s something he would have killed for a year ago, it just upsets him even more now.

* * *

 

Flowey’s characteristic mean streak returns, much to Morty’s relief. He doesn’t attack anyone, but he is a keen observer, and his words are cutting in the worst moments.

It takes only three chillingly accurate descriptions of mom and dad’s marriage for mom to decree him banished to Morty’s room permanently. Morty puts him on top of the dresser next to the window, so he can watch the sun whenever he feels like it. Sometimes Flowey does this for hours, not speaking. If he wants to be taken down, he will let Morty know in the form of some imperious demand. 

He calls Morty _Chara_ only once, and then his face immediately shifts into a sharp-toothed grimace. Morty kindly ignores it, and allows Chara to reach out and stroke his petals.

* * *

 

(“Why do you keep it? The flower thing? It’s—mean.” Dad says, once, over dinner.

 Summer groans and rolls her eyes, and although she’s staring at her phone, it’s obvious she’s listening in because she’s curious as well.

 “He,” Morty corrects, “And I’m keeping him because I made a promise. Plus, I have a little bit of experience with mean people.”

That’s clearly not the answer anyone was expecting. Summer glances up at him, and dad makes some inquisitive noise. Mom is giving him a look that is too knowing by far.

“He used to be a prince a long time ago, you know? I figured I’d make things feel a little more familiar for him.” Morty says, pushing his food around on his plate.

“Of course, honey.” Mom says, reaching out to ruffle his hair the way she used to when he was the kid who’d cling to her legs before school started.)

* * *

He visits the friends he made every day. 

The government has been equal parts accommodating and wary of their new citizens, but after dedicated research found that, yes, they had imprisoned an entire race and yes, humans had at least some kind of latent magical talent, they’d been less suspicious. Morty once again marvels at the oddity of this new universe, with all its little changes, but he also supposes that a recent alien invasion could also do much to open minds to the improbable.

Toriel always has a cooked meal and a hug waiting for him. He plays puzzles with Papyrus and sits in uncomfortable silence with Sans in the moments between. Undyne has been trying her best to get him to exercise, and Alphys is eager to watch what other anime the surface has to offer. He helps Asgore garden. Mettaton, when he’s in town, shares scandalous gossip about celebrities, cackling at Morty’s horrified questions. Sometimes, his family is nearby, Napstablook and all the other ghosts who stayed stubbornly within the Dummy bodies they stole—even the mean one.

He loves them all, loves the little community they’ve built out of their little space at the base of the mountain that used to be their prison. They call it New New Home. Other monsters have traveled far, using their magic and sweetness to find work and love and a purpose, but the ones nearest to his heart had stayed, and they are so proud of him.

Sometimes, some monster he never spoke to will greet him with no small amount of fondness, and though he doesn’t know them he will remember how hard he fought to save their souls and figure that of course they care. Monsters are kind. He wishes he could settle here, but he has too much that needs to be done. 

 _Someday_ , Chara says.

* * *

 

Morty skips school to visit Chara’s hometown, one day. It’s easy enough to slip out. His relative invisibility had remained the same even after his disappearance, and Papyrus’ role as ambassador for monsters had kept most people from making the connection.

Chara was born in a small town on the outskirts of Seattle, much like Morty, in the year 1938. They’d been born to parents that married young, and had they had no memory of the father who died in a distant war. Their life on the surface had been bitter and short, characterized by fear, anger, hunger, and harsh rules that were impossible to follow and usually lead to some kind of punishment. 

The young woman who opens the door of Chara’s ancestral home bears a resemblance to them, and before Morty realizes it, he’s tearing up. She’s got Chara’s thick brown hair, the aquiline nose dotted with so many freckles, the almond shaped eyes. She doesn’t resemble them perfectly—she’s got a healthier tan to her skin, and her lips are fuller, but the family resemblance is there, and is even more apparent when her lips tilt up into a bemused smile.

“Oh, hi! Sorry, are you lost? Are you okay?” She’s got a smoker’s rasp, and somehow that doesn’t match the kind, almost girlish look of her, from her messy bun to the striped shirt underneath aged dungarees.

“Yeah, I’m good. Sorry, this is the wrong house.” Morty gasps out.

“Do you need anything, hun? Water?” She asks, kindly.

And Morty, foolishly, says yes. She retreats back inside, and Morty is tempted to follow her, to enter this old home and search for something, anything, that would tell him about Chara’s life. Chara keeps the body’s feet rooted firmly in the ground, making the decision for him.

The young woman returns with a chilled bottle of water and a pack of cheese crackers. She smiles at him, and the sight of it makes his chest ache. “Take care of yourself, okay? Times are changing.”

He thanks her, and she shuts the door with finality.

He’ll come back, later, when the wound isn’t as fresh. 

**Author's Note:**

> i originially wrote this as a fun writing exercise and didn't really intend to share it. basically i wanted to see how i could blend characters and canons of two very different pieces of media. i think i did okay! i've started a second chapter for this, but i'm not pleased with where it's going, so i'm marking this as complete for now. if there's interest and i can actually finish it, i may post it in the future.
> 
> anyways! if you've made it this far, thanks so much for giving this a chance. i hadn't really seen a crossover like this, and i didn't want to rewrite the undertale canon with morty as much as i wanted to focus on the interaction of these characters. please let me know what you think!


End file.
